One Week Down

This evening, when I asked my brother if he felt exhausted at first when he was abroad, he responded: "Oh yeah, for, like, the first two months." Well isn't that just grand.
I've heard it from every corner of the Siena School, though, that the first few weeks you will feel overly exhausted, and though you go to bed at 10 and wake up at 8 and get much more sleep than you ever would in any other circumstance, you'll still find yourself sitting in front of your Italian teacher Deborah, just on the brink of closing your eyes for good when suddenly, you need to introduce Caterina, using new vocab you should have just picked up on.
It's all coming together slowly, though. After just one week immersed in the culture, I can understand most of what my host sisters say, and work my way through the bank, farmacia and the tabbachi. And truth be told, it isn't the worst to be clueless in Italy, because people have such patience, and of course, everyone is great at playing charades.

My school is located at the (what feels like) the top of the tallest hill in Siena. It's a fifteen minute walk straight up from the bus station, and then a climb to the third floor. So, usually, by the time I get into the classroom, I've pretty much walked off my breakfast.

This is the view from the student lounge.

None of that matters, though---the view is worth every step you take.

Basically my day starts as such: I get up and find breakfast waiting for me on the kitchen table. Things seem to run very smoothly in an Italian household, and it is simply because my host sisters take control of every little thing. Any small offer to help with a chore is automatically shot down, and there is no way to argue around it.  My routine has become a yogurt with a banana, some tea, and though they always put out some sort of cake or cookie for me, I usually don't eat much of that. Tonight actually, I received my first comment about it all. 

Basically, to sum it up quickly, they think I hate their food because I can't pack away three plates of pasta. And this was one of the most frustrating moments, trying to explain how much I love the food, but how I just couldn't stomach so much pasta. And then the dreaded moment came. They offered to make me authentic American food. I guess I could regret this later, but motioning my hands as loud as I could, I threw my right hand in a lateral motion, and then lightly but firmly banged fist against the table saying: "No american food!"

Luckily, they laughed. I think they get it, though they are not shy about commenting on how "little" I eat, and how much they make for me. Even with all of those comments, though, I appreciate every thing they do for me, and how helpful they've been these first weeks. Friday night, as I left to go into the center of Siena, Tizie exclaimed: "Good! Go! Enjoy! Have fun!" And all it does is plaster a smile on to my face. 

So far, I think one of the highlights of my time here has been the cooking class that myself and all of the other 14 students took at a local restaurant. Here, we were taught by a very kind man who showed us how to fold perfect tortelli and tortellini, how to make biscotti by hand, and then served us every single piece of pasta that we made ourselves. 

I made some more photos of the process on another friends camera (mine was too bulky to carry around as I covered myself in flour and eggs), so hopefully I'll be able to add those soon. All in all, it was an amazing meal, though it was nonstop pasta. Slowly, I'm getting used to how meal time works. Breakfast just barely holds me until lunch, and though sometimes it feels like I'm begging for dinner to come, most nights my hunger doesn't lurch until I smell the delicious fumes twirling downstairs.

This is a dish that Rita, the younger sister, made on Saturday night. It's a tomato and cream sauce, with mushrooms and sausage. This is the first dish where I asked for seconds. I did regret it, though, when she pulled out the onion frittata.

And it's amazing that only a week ago I was scared about getting an authentic experience with my two sisters. I couldn't ask for better cooks, more patient people, and two women who are truly interested in my life. Sometimes it's hard to see if they like me enough, but I'm definitely on my way into their hearts---I've promised to make them pancakes.